


attractive

by inberin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inberin/pseuds/inberin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know if you’ll understand, Kenji, because for as long as I’ve known you it seems like it’s always been Chikara,” says Narita, putting his drink down. “But when you’re stuck on someone, it’s not easy to let go.”</p><p>ennoshita picks futakuchi, of all people. futakuchi realises 'all people' is a certain four.</p>
            </blockquote>





	attractive

**Author's Note:**

> fdghGDGGHDGhdfdffgsgh i just wanted to a write a everyone's a little bit in love with ennoshita thiing and here we are
> 
> THANK U TO LIN FOR HELPING ME TAG THIS i had so much trouble figuring tags out u would not believe
> 
> enjoy!! <3

Futakuchi Kenji finds himself stuck in a room. Which is already a daunting prospect on its own, but he also happens to be stuck with a very quiet Kinoshita Hisashi.

Kinoshita’s cool, usually. Kenji’s more iffy with Tanaka, who likes to yell a lot and make nasty faces at him, but he’s always off doing dumb stuff with or being distracted by Nishinoya (he says to call him Yuu, but that’s so weird! Kenji barely knows the guy) which lessens the threat to his mental acuity somewhat. Narita is mostly content with just following the flow of conversation, but drops the occasional remark that reminds Kenji that he’s much more than just a genial face and a quiet smile. He likes Narita. And Kinoshita’s his opposite, but yet not—not loud, but full of scathing remarks and a quick, burning wit. Startlingly watchful eyes.

“Kenji!” Chikara calls from where he's sticking his head out of the kitchen. There’s some white powder on his cheek, and a lot more in his hair. “Are you playing nice with Hisashi?”

“He hasn’t tried to kill me yet,” Kinoshita quips. “I’m taking it as a good sign.”

“Significant improvements, Kenji,” Chikara agrees, nodding sagely. Kenji wants to punch him, but also maybe brush the flour of off that smug grin? And maybe kiss him? And Chikara probably knows this, which sorta pisses him off but also not?

“I need a drink if I’m gonna have to spend any more time with this guy,” Kenji settles on saying instead. There’s no real bite to the words, and Kinoshita snorts in amusement.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chikara tosses over his shoulder as he turns back to the kitchen. “Kazuhito! Could you be a sweetheart and grab them a couple of sodas?”

There's the sound of a fridge door opening and closing, then Narita appears, clutching two cans of Mountain Dew in one hand and tossing more flour at Chikara with the other as he strides out of the kitchen. Chikara screeches indignantly as the white flecks scatter over his black shirt and his apron like a thousand stars.

Narita passes them a can and a small smile each before making his way back to the kitchen, earning himself a powdery, vengeful handprint on his face courtesy of Chikara. Kenji meets Chikara's eye, and his boyfriend bursts into laughter without warning, bright and boisterous and sweet and real, and sends Kenji one last grin before heading back in to finish making their dinner.

Kenji's chest still hums with the fading sound of Chikara's laugh, and his eyes still train themselves on where Chikara's smile was, and all he can think about is—

“'—I can't believe how lucky I am,’ is what you're thinking, isn't it?” Kinoshita says.

Kenji snaps his head towards the direction of Kinoshita’s voice. Somehow, he gets the feeling that Kinoshita’s picking him apart and analysing him within an inch of his life.  It’s probably the eyes. “Uh?” he squeaks.

It's quiet for a bit. Muffled laughter floats out of the kitchen. The urge to check on them itches a little, but Kenji really can't cook for nuts and Chikara's probably going to yell at him if he tries to peek at what they're trying to make.

Kinoshita breaks the silence, in a voice softer and with less bite than Kenji's used to. “He’s not handsome, you know,” he says, swirling his drink aimlessly, gaze focused somewhere between a corner of Chikara’s living room and a corner of his mind. “But Cleopatra wasn’t beautiful, either. She had a famously big nose. And yet she had two of the most powerful men in the world wrapped right around her finger.”

“Chikara's nose is fine,” Kenji retorts, because he's not sure what he's supposed to say here.

Kinoshita mutters something under his breath that kinda sounds like “it’s not the only part of him that’s fine,” then shows the most emotion he has all day by ducking his head and going slightly red in the face. “I’m sorry, that was a bit too…”

“Hey, you saw the chance and you took it.” Kenji shrugs. “I respect that, you know?”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Kinoshita says quietly, flashes a little smile in response, but Kenji doesn’t think he’s talking about the word ‘fine’ anymore. He raises his head again, and stares unblinkingly at Kenji.  “I guess what I'm trying to say,” he intones, the usual amused dryness in his words returning just a little, “is that Ennoshita Chikara is a dangerous man.”

Then the doorbell rings, and Kenji leaps up to let Tanaka, Nishinoya and their combined noise in, along with a great deal of snacks and more soda. Narita emerges from the kitchen with the results of a meatloaf recipe and a cutlery-laden Chikara in tow, and by the time Kenji meets Kinoshita’s eye again he knows the conversation is over.

Later, after they’ve all eaten and socialised themselves weary and shuffled begrudgingly out of the apartment, Chikara puts his hands on Kenji’s shoulders, tiptoeing just a little bit to kiss him goodbye. The others tease and snark. Kinoshita is silent, and stares unblinkingly, unwaveringly at Chikara until everyone turns to leave.

 

 

They’ve been dating for maybe only a month when Chikara thinks it's time for Kenji to meet the family. Kenji, unsurprisingly, thinks this is a terrible idea, and tries to tell him as such.

"N-no, wait! You realise we've only been d-dating a month," Kenji says, feeling himself flush a bit as he fumbles the word 'dating' _because he's not used to such a straightfoward term_ , and feels said flush deepen as Chikara just laces their fingers together in response even as he continues to pull them forward.

"Of course I know." Chikara tilts his head and gives him that unreadable look, the one Kenji doesn't think he'll ever be able to crack, even if he has Chikara for years and years and years. (Oh, but he doesn't even dare to think about it. Chikara, his for years, even though he's only had him a month.) "A month, two hours and," he pauses, raising their clasped hands to check Kenji's watch, "twenty-four minutes, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen seconds and counting."

Kenji makes an awful croaking sound. "How do you even _remember_ that?"

Chikara shrugs. "I didn't. Just made it up as I went. Happy one month and two hours' anniversary."

"Oh, fuck you."

"But it's only been a month and two hours, Kenji," Chikara says, looking up at him through coyly lowered lashes, and Kenji realises he's utterly outplayed, entirely unbalanced. He hasn't stood properly on his two feet since he'd met Ennoshita Chikara.

"I still don't think I'm cut out to meet your family yet," he blusters as best as he can. "It's only been a month, and you know how I'm like with adults and stuff! Please can we at least reschedule," he pleads.

"It's not easy for me to get them all together, you know. They're all very busy people." Chikara smiles and continues half-dragging him forward. A couple steps more, Kenji realises, his heart sinking, and they'll be standing before Chikara's chosen location for his meet-the-family session, namely a—

"—A McDonald's?" Kenji asks, a little winded.

"Whoever said anything about adults," Chikara says, pushing Kenji through the glass doors. Their entrance is punctuated by loud whooping from a table in the corner, where four teenagers, two of whom happen to be baldies, seem to be looking expectantly in their direction. Chikara grips Kenji's hand tighter and marches them right up to that table, before turning to Kenji with his eyes bright and his smile brighter. "My family," he says, and there's more pride and affection in Chikara's voice than Kenji's heard in all his months of knowing him, and he's not sure he'll hear it used for anyone else, even if he has Chikara for years and years and years.

"We're going to get along swimmingly," Kenji says.

 

 

Futakuchi Kenji finds himself stuck in a bar with Chikara’s posse, which is a lot less of a daunting prospect after all these years, but he happens to be stuck with them, sans Chikara.

It’s not one of those cosy pubs that play café music and are mostly for people to sit around and shoot the breeze (that’s his and Aone’s thing, and he knows for a fact that that’s where he’s taking Chikara, today) but the sort that you might call a _club_ . Kenji hasn’t _clubbed_ in years.

 _someone just hurled onto his dance partner’s shoes and theyre both hysterical now_ , he types out into a text message. _wish u were here_ , he adds as an afterthought, and hits ‘send’. Nishinoya, always the hawk-eyed one, yells “Kenji, no texting Chikara while we’re here!”

“It’s not like he’s going to reply anyway,” Kenji says, absolutely not whining in the least. Chikara respects Aone way too much to be distracted by one of Kenji’s texts. Though, it’s not that Kenji doesn’t respect these guys, he really does, it’s more like Nishinoya’s daring Kinoshita to down a flaming margarita in one go, flames and all, Tanaka’s whooping in excitement behind them, and Narita’s the only one who actually still looks respectable. He then proceeds to make himself appear even more respectable by taking the margarita, blowing out the flames, and then downing it himself.

“Aww,” groan the other three.

“No one’s killing themselves tonight. We’ve got another round tomorrow with Chikara,” Narita reminds them, setting the glass back down on the table with barely a _clink_ . “ _And_ we need to look presentable by Saturday.”

“Presentable, my ass! Let’s go rock, Noya-san!” Tanaka bellows. He doesn’t exactly look nineteen again in his get-up, but he’s alright. Nishinoya, on the other hand, rocks the latest street fashion like it was tailored for him. “Damn right, Ryu!” he shrieks back. “Let’s go!”

Kinoshita looks back at Narita, who just shrugs empathetically at him, and then he turns and strides off after them in his stiletto boots.

“They forgot about me,” Kenji says, almost in wonder.

“They sure did,” Narita says.

“What do we do now?”

“We can talk. Though Ryu was of the impression we were supposed to scare you so hard you piss your pants and never associate with Chikara again.”

Kenji laughs, and again it’s partly because he’s forgotten straight-laced Narita’s penchant to suddenly dropping swears when people least expect it. “He already tried to do that the first time I met all of you.”

Narita leans back into the plush seat, folding his arms. “He was confused, you know. ‘What’s so good about that guy,’ he asked me, because I wasn’t Chikara. And I’d said, ‘I don’t know.’” He watches Kenji through his new bangs, a soft curly affair that he’d decided to grow out a couple years back. It suits him. “What’s so good about you, Kenji?”

“Um,” says Kenji. “I, uh.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Narita laughs, lightly. “That’s kind of a heavy thing to spring on someone, I understand. And I think that at this point, the best people to answer would be,” he gestures to the three people gyrating on the dance floor, “us.”

“Huh,” says Kenji.

“Chikara talks about you a lot, obviously.” There’s a loose string on Narita’s jacket, and he picks absently at it. “Anyone who’s in love does.” Kenji feels his face flush at the phrase _in love_ and he’s glad the club is aesthetically dimmed, with pink and purple lights flashing in succession. “And we know you now.”

“That’s,” mumbles Kenji, “quite heartening.”

“You care about your friends,” Narita says, counting off on his fingers like he’s remembering a grocery list. “You have a deep respect for your seniors. You’re an asshole. You think fast. You work for what you want, you have a quick wit, and, you’re an asshole.”

Kenji muffles a laugh. “Thank you.”

“You know, absolutely perfect for each other.”

“ _Thank you._ ”

Narita laughs, and it’s what Kenji might describe as a ‘titter’, a long series of short exhales. Kenji finds himself thinking, _ah, that’s cute_ , and then notices that Kinoshita’s back, with two pink cocktails in hand, watching them. Or rather, watching Narita. “Here,” he says, handing one to him. They’re wearing the same shade of nail polish, Kenji notices. It’s glossy and orange. “I think you’ll like this.”

“Will I,’ says Narita, thoughtfully.

“None for me?” Kenji complains.

“Bleh,” Kinoshita says, sticking out his tongue, but gamely hands the second glass over to Kenji. “Come join us later, when you’re done talking.”

Kinoshita moves out of earshot. “He’s interested,” Kenji mutters before he thinks better of it.

Narita raises his voice a little over the thumping of bass. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing!” Kenji flaps his hands frantically as if it’d make his words go away. “It’s nothing.”

“‘Interested,’ was it?” Narita smiles, soft. He sips at the cocktail. “It’s been years. Of course I know.”

“Then why,” begins Kenji, then stops himself. “You don’t have to tell me anything. We should talk about something else.”

“No,” Narita cuts in. “We did come here to talk trash about our precious Ennoshita Chikara, but they just happened to get side-tracked.” He smiles, like he’s remembering something sad from a time so long ago he should have forgotten it. “I don’t know if you’ll understand, Kenji, because for as long as I’ve known you it seems like it’s always been Chikara,” says Narita, putting his drink down. “But when you’re stuck on someone, it’s not easy to let go.”

Kenji thinks of big hands and broad shoulders and silence. But it’s faded, like an old photograph left out in the sun for too long, and the only one blazing in Kenji’s mind is _Chikara_. “Yeah, I know.” It’s not a lie.

“So you do.” He looks down, and his serene smile goes a little melancholy. “Well, I’m still stuck.”

“Really? How long has it been?”

“Too long,” sighs Narita. “Years and years and years. He’s a very dangerous man,” he says, and it sounds like an echo from a simpler time.

“I’m not in any place to say anything, but maybe you should, I dunno,” Kenji twines his fingers uncertainly together. “Give it a shot. We’re not getting any younger, you know,” he jokes, half-heartedly.

“I know, I know.” Narita’s grin is a little more genuine now, and Kenji’s chest feels a little less tight. “Thanks.”

“ALRIGHT!!” shrieks Nishinoya’s voice from somewhere behind him. “Y’all have talked enough! It’s time to actually have fun!”

“I’m having plenty of fun,” Kenji says, even as he lets Nishinoya try to drag him upright. He’s pretty strong for a little guy. “Narita’s plenty fun.”

“Kazuhito’s no fun at all!” Tanaka objects, in the middle of lifting his leg to kick Narita out of his seat.

“I’ll have you know Kazu’s fun as hell,” says Kinoshita. “He’s just terrible at _having_ fun.”

“Ha,” Narita says from where he’s been unceremoniously pushed onto the floor. “Let’s break that dance floor.”

At the end of the night, they shove Tanaka and Nishinoya into separate taxis home. Narita lives around the area, and he leaves to take the bus. Kinoshita trots after him, and Kenji watches as Narita lets him twine their fingers together. _1 new message from ennoshita chikara_ , reads the notification on his phone. _I might be there tomorrow u know how they are. We might not get to see each other until Saturday._

_yeah well ive been ennoshita kenji ever since we got registered so no big deal_

_Boringgggg at least try to be excited_

He is. He really is.

 

If there’s one thing Kenji’s come to realise about Nishinoya Yuu, it’s that volleyball is his biggest driving force. Kenji’s pretty good at volleyball, if he does say so himself, but it’s not something he thinks he might do years down the road. In contrast to that, the only thing he can really imagine Nishinoya doing in his twenties, thirties and seventies is him diving for and saving every single damn ball on the court.

And now, in their third year. “Left!” he yells to Koganegawa, beginning his run-up as the toss goes forward in an arc he actually likes, for once, and it slams satisfyingly into his palm. But the shortie—it's Hinata, Aone keeps telling him but he’s never got it into his head—leaps high enough for him to form another half-block beside the much taller glasses guy, and the spike ricochets off his forearm, heading right out of bounds.

Or it should have made for a nice block-out, but a tiny blur is somehow _already there_ , and the ball goes flying right back up to the setter, who tosses to the back for the ace—

“OGYAA!” hollers Tanaka, and the ball slams right off Sakunami’s forearms and out of the court. Oiwake calls for a timeout.

“Stop chugging your water!” Kenji yelps as Koganegawa begins emptying his bottle at a startling rate. “Sakunami, stop him!” Sakunami blinks, then raises his hand high above his head and smacks Koganegawa’s back as hard as he can. Koganegawa’s eyes bulge, and he starts to cough his lungs out. “Not like that!” Kenji shrieks. Aone puts a pitying hand on his shoulder. “Don’t give me that! You do something about it, vice-captain!”

Aone shrugs, and slaps Koganegawa on the back a few times until he stops coughing. Then he gives him a thumbs-up. Koganegawa returns the gesture, teary-eyed, and Aone turns back to Kenji like he has no idea why Kenji’d had a problem in the first place. _Vice-captains_ , bemoans the little Moniwa-sounding voice in his head.

And amidst the chaos of his team, Chikara, watching him with the faintest of smiles on his face. He meets his eye, and the smile grows wider. Kenji starts to raise a hand, to say hello, to flip him off, whatever, but then Aone’s strong hand slaps his shoulder, and the whistle blows again for the match to begin. Kenji looks around, feeling a little unsteady on his feet. “Don’t get distracted,” calls Coach from behind him. _A bit late for that_ , his mind echoes, and it’s not Moniwa’s voice this time.

He takes a step forward, and sees Nishinoya’s large, sharp eyes staring, from the other side of the court. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand, but he squares his shoulders against it.

They barely beat them, 25-23 on the third set. It stings a little, being almost evenly-matched even though they’re supposed to be stronger now, and Karasuno’s own strong foundation has left. It’s just a practice match, but it stings.

Karasuno’s coach gives them his comments, and he seems earnest and sincere, which is nice. He also gets to shake Chikara’s hand at the end of it, and you can’t really blame him if he lets his fingers linger a bit, lets them trace down the lines of the hand as he lets go. Chikara’s smile is soft, meaningful. They part, and Kenji turns to leave, feeling a familiar giddy smile playing about his lips, but then someone else grabs his hand and pumps it up and down.

“Good match!” Nishinoya says, grinning, radiant. Kenji feels a little like he’s just been woken up by someone suddenly throwing the curtains open and letting the daylight stream in.

“Thank you,” Kenji replies, solemnly, like a _captain_. “You were good, as usual.”

“I still gotta train a lot more if I’m gonna beat you guys in a real match!” he says, slapping Kenji on the arm. Kenji wonders if this is how Koganegawa feels like on a daily basis. “Are you joining us for dinner!”

It doesn’t even sound like a question. “Sure, I guess. If you’ll have me. I don’t want to impose,” says Kenji as he tries to retrieve his hand from Nishinoya’s grip.

“You’re an okay guy,” Nishinoya says, finally releasing Kenji’s hand only to grab him by the wrist instead, leading him away from the rest of his teammates as they pack up their things. Kenji’s not too bothered about the interruption, Aone’ll get his stuff ready if it came to that (he’d hold up four fingers to Kenji later on the bus, one for each favour owed), but it’s Nishinoya’s eyes that give him the shivers. They’re the only part of his face that isn’t smiling.

“I have five seconds,” Nishinoya begins, but is then interrupted by a loud, “WHAT’RE YOU DOING, NOYA-SAN!” from the other side of the gym. He takes a breath. “Okay. Less. Kenji, Chikara is very important to us. All of us.”

“Uh-huh?” Kenji says, unsure of where Nishinoya’s going with this.

“Uh,” Nishinoya says. “I dunno what I’m trying to say.”

“Begin at the beginning,” Kenji quips, almost reflexively, “and end at the end.”

“I only have five seconds, Kenji!”

“Noya-san! If Futakuchi doesn’t get his ass outta here he’s not going to be able to get back in time for dinner!”

Nishinoya’s gaze darts around, erratic, and his foot starts twitching, tapping away at the ground like he’d like nothing better than to sprint away from Kenji and not look back. When his eyes finally train themselves on Kenji again, he feels that same not-fear, along with the urge to take a step back. “Kenji,” Nishinoya says, “if you hurt Chikara’s feelings I’ll kick your ass into next week.”

“I,” says Kenji, hoping that his knees aren’t knocking together or anything even though this kid is an entire head shorter than him, “don’t doubt that you will.”

Nishinoya claps one hand on Kenji’s bicep, smiling as bright as ever, even though the look in his eyes doesn’t change one bit. “We’re gonna get stronger. Gonna beat you fair and square. Got it?”

“I got it.”

He turns to his teammates, where Tanaka’s started to make his way over to haul Noya’s away or something, but Kenji knows immediately that Tanaka’s not the one he first sees, because he’s searching for the slightly shorter figure, the one that would have once stood a ways away from the rest but who’s now in the middle of a throng of underclassmen, smiling and offering advice and keeping order and _smiling_. Kenji knows this, because he’s doing the exact same thing.

“But I know there are some battles I can’t fight,” Nishinoya says, quietly, and doesn’t look at Kenji.

And then Tanaka’s upon them, making one of his faces. “Damn it, Futakuchi! Are you trying to make your bus go off without you, or what! Leave! Shoo! Get out!”

“Yessir,” Kenji says, offering a truly half-assed salute. “See you guys later.” Aone’s standing at the gym door with his stuff, and Kenji breaks into a slight jog to reach him, but Nishinoya’s faster, sprinting straight for Chikara. Then he leaps.

Chikara lets out a muffled “oof” as Nishinoya lands square on his back. He staggers a bit, but rights himself in a heartbeat. “I’m not Tanaka, you know,” he says mildly, even as he adjusts Nishinoya’s weight on his back so he can steady him by the legs. “I’ll see you later, Kenji.” Nishinoya holds out his fist, as if to punctuate Chikara’s words. He’s smiling, and his eyes are, too.

“Hell yeah,” Kenji says, and fistbumps Nishinoya.

 

Chikara hasn't agonised over the plans for months, hasn't had sleepless nights over reservations and costs and colour schemes for nothing. Kenji helps, really, he tries to take parts of the burden away and off of Chikara's shoulders, but it's never been pretty when Chikara finds out. (He does it anyway. Sorts out the florist, the tailors. But if anyone were to ask, it's all Chikara's doing.) When the pieces finally fall into place barely a week before the planned day, Chikara finally shuts his laptop, puts down his phone, and looks up at Kenji with those beautiful, tired eyes—and Kenji feels himself spiralling all over again.

And it's all worth it. Aone comes to greet him, looking positively bewitching in his preferred formal wear, if Kenji does say so himself, and Aone doesn't smile, but he shakes Kenji's hand so hard it might've fallen off if Kenji's cuffs weren't done up absolutely proper. Obara and Onagawa drop by too, but he's honestly already seen them all barely a couple nights ago, and there's only so many times you can laugh at someone in a suit. They leave, and then the waiting room is quiet and empty and hollow, and Kenji just wants to see Chikara.

The door bangs open, and Kenji almost crinkles his perfectly pressed shirt with how hard he flinches. Tanaka Ryuunosuke stands in the doorway, panting, his tie stuffed into the front pocket of his suit jacket. "Futakuchi," he rasps.

"Tanaka? Were you running?" Kenji's standing, moving, worried. "Are you okay? Is something wrong? Shouldn't you be outside, talking to—"

Tanaka takes one uncertain step, then another, and then he's rushing forward and slamming his fist right into Kenji's gut.

It feels like forgetting how to breathe—Chikara—like falling— _Chikara_ —and then Kenji's collapsed on his knees, filling his lungs with air over and over like he'll never breathe right again. It takes a good while for him to feel human enough to look up at Tanaka, and he can feel tears pricking at his eyes. (God, he knew he was going to cry today, but not like this.) He can't say anything, doesn't feel like he deserves to ask _why_.

Tanaka's breathing hard too, staring at his hand like he isn't sure he actually did what he just did. "I," he begins, and Kenji can see when the realisation starts to sink in, when his expression begins to crumble. "I'm sorry, I—"

"I'm glad you didn't go for my face, considering how I'm getting married within the hour," Kenji says. "Good to know you're always looking out for a brother."

Dark eyes go wide, and Tanaka looks like he's the one who just got hit in the stomach. Then he falls to his knees before where Futakuchi's crumpled on the floor, and laughs. He's crying. "I knew him first," Tanaka says, quieter than Futakuchi's ever heard him. "He looks like he's Hisashi and Kazu's now, but I knew him first. Got it?"

"I got it," Kenji says.

"Before any of that. Before Noya-san. Before you. You got it?"

"I got it."

"I was going to... It was going to be after," Tanaka says. "It wouldn't have been long. I was waiting. Making sure. I'm not good at talking. Not good at nice words, like you. Like him, too." He shakes his head slowly, once, then fast, like a dog shaking water out of its fur. He stops. "It wouldn't have been long."

Kenji is silent.

Tanaka stands up, brushes down his dress pants, and puts on his jacket. The slim orange tie falls out of the pocket, and Tanaka bends to pick it up, almost trancelike. "I'll... get him to tie it for me." He wraps the tie around his fingers, the way a prizefighter might, before he enters the ring. "I'm no good at ties, either."

"He is," Kenji says quietly.

"He is," Tanaka agrees. He offers a hand. Kenji takes it, and he pulls him up, lets him orient himself.

Kenji adjusts his own attire, checking it in the mirror. "How do I look?"

"Fucking sexy," Tanaka declares. Kenji grins.

The white suit jacket is slipped off its simple black hanger, and Tanaka helps him into it, checks the lapels for him, adjusts his bow tie so he looks like the picture of perfection again. Then he slaps Kenji's back, and makes to leave.

"Wait," Kenji says. "Were you going to say anything else?"

Tanaka pauses to think. "Don't hurt him," he seems to settle on. "Or else I'll..."

"Kick my ass into next Friday?" Kenji supplies helpfully.

"Else I'll take it as my turn to know him all over again," Tanaka tells Kenji. "But I'll kick your ass too, if you wanna."

"Go get your tie tied," Kenji says, and boots Tanaka out of the room. Then he sits down, and thinks of Chikara—how happy he'd looked during his fitting, how his eyes lit up when the florist bought in the perfect bouquet, how he'd wrapped his arms around Kenji's neck when it was all over.

Kenji looks at the empty, untouched skin on his left ring finger, and for what feels like the first time in months, he thinks. Thinks of what loving Chikara feels like—like spraining an ankle and having it heal but still feeling as though one misstep could send him head-over-heads again—like ice-skating for the first time, and falling over so many times he's forgotten what solid ground feels like. He thinks of Cleopatra and Julius Caesar and Marc Antony.

“Guess I’m the asp, then, aren’t I?” he asks the empty room. The clock strikes noon, and Kenji knows it's all the answer he'll get. He looks into the mirror one last time, and steps outside to years and years and years.

  



End file.
